His Forbidden Pregnant Princess. Maisey Yates

CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

      SHE WAS BENEATH him in every way. From her common blood to her objectively plain appearance—that years of designer clothing, professional treatments from the finest aestheticians and beauticians and the work of the best makeup artists money could buy had failed to transform into true beauty—from the way she carried herself, to the way she spoke.

      The stepsister he had always seen as a particularly drab blot on the otherwise extravagant tapestry of the royal family of San Gennaro.

      The stepsister he could hardly bear to share the same airspace with, let alone the same palace.

      The stepsister he was now tasked with finding a suitable husband for.

      The stepsister he wanted more than his next breath.

      She was beneath him in every way. Except for the way he desired most.

      And she never would be.

      There were a thousand reasons. From the darkness in him, to the common blood in her. But the only reason that truly mattered was that she was his stepsister, and he was a king.

      “You requested my presence, Luca?” Sophia asked, looking up at him with a dampened light in her blue eyes that suggested she was suppressing some emotion or other. In all probability a deep dislike for having to deal with him.

      But the feeling was mutual. And if he could endure such an indignity then Sophia—in all her borrowed glory—certainly could.

      “I did. As you know, it was my father’s final wish that you be well cared for, along with your mother. He wrote it into law that you are part of this family and are to be treated as a daughter of his blood would be.”

      Sophia looked down, her lashes dark on her pale cheek. She had visible freckles that never failed to vex him. Because he wanted to count them. Because sometimes, he wanted to kiss each one.

      She should cover them with makeup as most women of her status did. She should have some care for the fact she was a princess.

      But she did not.

      Today she wore a simple shift that made her bare legs seem far too long and slender. It was an ungainly thing. She also wore nothing at all to cover them. She had on flat shoes, and not a single piece of jewelry. Her dark hair hung limp around her shoulders.

      He could only hope she had not gone out in public that way.

      “Yes,” she said, finally. Then those dark eyes connected with his and he felt it like a lightning bolt straight down to his stomach. He should not. For every reason cataloged in his mind only a moment before. She was not beautiful. Not when compared to the elegant women who had graced his bed before her. Not when compared to nearly any other princess the world over.

      But she captivated him. Had done from the moment he had met her. At first it was nothing more than feeling at turns invaded and intrigued by this alien creature that had come into his life. She had been twelve to his seventeen when their parents had married.

      Sophia had possessed a public school education, not a single hint of deportment training and no real understanding of the hierarchy of the palace.

      She had a tendency to speak out of turn, to trip over her feet and to treat him in an overly familiar manner.

      Her mother was a warm, vivacious woman who had done much to restore his father’s life, life that had drained away after the loss of his first wife. She was also a quick study, and did credit to the position of Queen of San Gennaro.

      Sophia, on the other hand, seemed to resist her new role, and her new life. She continued to do so now. In little ways. Her bare legs, and her bare face, as an example.

      His irritation with her had taken a sharp turn, twisting into something much more disturbing around the time she turned sixteen. That sense of being captivated, in the way one might be by a spider that has invaded one’s room, shifted and became much more focused.

      And there had been a moment, when he had found her breathless from running out in the garden like a schoolgirl when she had been the advanced age of seventeen, that everything had locked into place. That it had occurred to him that if he could only capture that insolent mouth of hers with his own she would finally yield. And he would no longer feel so desperately beguiled by her.

      It had only gotten worse as the years had progressed. And the idea of kissing her had perverted yet further into doing much, much more.

      But it was not to be. Not ever.

      As he had just told her, his father had decreed that she was family. As much as if they were blood.

      And so he was putting an end to this once and for all.

      “He asked me to take care of you in a very specific fashion,” Luca continued. “And I feel that now that it has been six months since his passing, it is time for me to see those requests honored.”

      A crease appeared between her brows. “What request?”

      “Specifically? The matter of your marriage, sorellina.” Little sister. He called her that to remind himself.

      “My marriage? Shouldn’t we see to the matter of me getting asked to the movies first, Luca?”

      “There is no need for such things, obviously. A woman in your position is hardly going to go to the movies. Rather, I have been poring over a list of suitable men who might be able to be brought in for consideration.”

      “You’re choosing my husband?” she asked, her tone incredulous.

      “I intend to present you with a manageably sized selection. I am not so arrogant that I would make the final choice for you.”

      Sophia let out a sharp, inelegant laugh. “Oh, no. You’re only so arrogant that you would inform me I’m getting married, and that you have already started taking steps toward planning the wedding. Tell me, Luca, have you picked out my dress, as well?”

      Of course he would be involved in approving that selection; if she thought otherwise she was delusional. “Not as yet,” he said crisply.

      “What happens if I refuse you?”

      “You won’t,” he said, certainty going as deep as his bones.

      He was the king now, and she could not refuse him. She would not. He would not allow it.

      “Why wouldn’t I?”

      “You are welcome, of course, to make a mockery of the generosity that my father has shown to your mother and yourself. You are welcome, of course, to cause a rift between the two of us.”

      She crossed her arms, cocking one hip out to the side. “I could hardly cause a rift between the two of us, Luca. No matter what you might say, you have never behaved as a loving older brother to me.”

      “Perhaps it is because you have never been a sister to me,” he said, his voice hard.

      She would not